The Man Thou Gavest eBook

“Then you must go, darling, until White returns.
After I have explained to him I will come for you,
but first let me hold you—­so! and kiss
you—­so! This is why—­you
must go, my love!”

She was in his arms, her lifted face pressed to his.
She shivered, but clung to him for a moment and two
tears rolled down her cheeks—­the first
he had ever seen escape her control. He kissed
them away.

“Of what are you thinking, Nella-Rose?”

“Thinking? I’m not thinking; I’m—­happy!”

“My—­sweetheart!” Again Truedale
pressed his lips to hers.

“Us-all calls sweetheart—­’doney-gal’!”

“My—­my doney-gal, then!”

“And”—­the words came muffled,
for Truedale was holding her still—­“and
always I shall see your face, now. It came to-day
like it came long ago. It will always come and
make me glad.”

Truedale lifted her from his breast and held her at
arms’ length. He looked deep into her eyes,
trying to pierce through her ignorance and childishness
to find the elusive woman that could meet and bear
its part in what lay before. Long they gazed
at each other—­then the light in Nella-Rose’s
face quivered—­her mouth drooped.

“I’m going now,” she said, “going
till Jim White comes back.”

“Wait—­my—­”

But the girl had slipped from his grasp; she was gone
into the misty, threatening grayness that had closed
in about them while love had carried them beyond their
depths. Then the rain began to fall—­heavy,
warning drops. The wind, too, was rising sullenly
like a monster roused from its sleep and slowly gathering
power to vent its rage.

Into this darkening storm Nella-Rose fled unheedingly.
She was not herself—­not the girl of the
woods, wise in mountain lore; she was bewitched and
half mad with the bewildering emotions that, at one
moment frightened her—­the next, carried
her closer to the spiritual than she had ever been.

CHAPTER VII

Alone in his cabin, Truedale was conscious of a sort
of groundless terror that angered him. The storm
could not account for it—­he had the advantage
of ignorance there! Certainly his last half-hour
could not be responsible for his sensations.
He justified every minute of it by terms as old as
man’s desires and his resentment of restrictions.
“Our lives are our own!” he muttered,
setting to work to build a fire and to light the lamp.
“They will all come around to my way of seeing
things when I have made good and taken her back to
them!”

Still this arguing brought no peace, and more and
more Truedale found himself relying upon Jim White’s
opinions. In that troubled hour the sheriff stood
like a rugged sign post in the path. One unflinching
finger pointed to the past; the other—­to
the future.

“Well! I’ve chosen,” thought
Truedale; “it’s the new way and—­thank
God!” But he felt that the future could be made
possible or miserable by Jim’s favour or disapproval.